


Bad Turn

by Hekate1308



Series: Wheels [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 13, Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 15:12:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14240004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: They were on a case.





	Bad Turn

They had split up during a case; Sam and Cas were at the morgue, while Crowley and Dean were talking to the victim’s mother. “I just don’t understand why he would ever go down to the river. Ever since he was a kid, he had this terrible fear of drowning – he never even learned to swim.”

“So there is no way he’d go there on his own? None that you can imagine?” Dean asked. “We’re sorry, but we have to ask these questions.”

“Of course you have to” she replied firmly. “You have to find out who did this to my boy and make sure they get what’s coming to them.”

“We will do our best” Den promised, as always ready to charm any witness.

“He was such a gentle…” her lips began to tremble. “And no, he’d never… under no circumstances… unless…”

“Yes?” Dean prompted.

“If someone needed help. He’d probably have gone there then. But only then.”

Crowley nodded. “Thank you for your time…”

“I just don’t know what to do now” she burst forth. “Justin’s siblings live two states away, and we were always so close…” she sniffed. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to lose a child?”

And Gavin’s ghost once more hovered over Crowley’s shoulder, although not quite as literally as when Bobby Singer had summoned him. He swallowed.

She saw the expression on his face and immediately began to apologize. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea –“

“It’s not your fault” he interrupted her, “And it was quite some time ago.”

Years, for him.

“Does it ever get easier?” she asked quietly.

Crowley, for lack of anything better to do, reached out and touched her hand. “I can’t say that. But one learns to live with it.”

Dean hadn’t said a thing; he simply watched them quietly.

* * *

After they had left, Dean said, “You don’t talk about him often. Gavin.”

“There is little to say. I had a son, and he’s dead” Crowley answered.

“Did you… I mean… did you talk about it… at the beginning? With Mom.”

“Sometimes. Mary was… a good listener.”

Mostly because in the wasteland they had had little to do but to fight to survive and try and forget about it when they weren’t struggling to find something to eat, and talking had been the best option.

Dean nodded. “Good.”

He didn’t say anything else, proving once more that he probably knew Crowley better than anyone in this dimension.

* * *

  _“What are you thinking of?”_

_Mary often asked him that question. He assumed she was making sure he wasn’t turning back to his evil ways; as if that would have been a good idea, when his survival depended on being part of the group._

_“Nothing” he said, even though he’d been looking up at the moon and remembered that Gavin had been very smitten with the stars as a very young boy._

_The grief he’d felt even as a demon had come back full force now that he had a weak human body._

_“You’re lying.”_

_He shrugged. “I’m just not very keen on sharing, that is all.”_

_She looked at him and something like understanding dawned on her face. “It’s about your son, isn’t it.”_

_He hadn’t known Sam and Dean had even told her about him._

_“Yes.” There was no point in lying since she had already guessed the truth._

_She raised her head and looked up at the moon as well. “I often think of the boys, too. And the mistakes I made.”_

_“You did what you thought was best for all of you.” Crowley couldn’t say the same. He’d only ever looked out for himself._

_“And that was a great idea, wasn’t it.” She sighed. “I should have listened to Dean.”_

_Weren’t those words to live by. When it came to things going wrong, the older Winchester usually had pretty good instincts._

_“If it makes you feel better, I did and I died for it, so…”_

_Mary chuckled. “In his defence, I am sure he didn’t see it coming that you would sacrifice yourself.”_

_Fair enough. He himself hadn’t seen it coming, not for a long time._

_“Tell me about him” Mary suddenly said. “Gavin.”_

_“There’s not much to tell. We never saw eye to eye.”_

_“But you were thinking of something specific when I found you. What was it?”_

_And he told her._

* * *

Justin Tommerson wasn’t the only victim. Within the next three days, two more bodies were found; all of them relatively young, all of them with…

“Their parents” Crowley said suddenly, having realized what they had in common. “Their parents are still alive, at least one of every victim, that is.”

Dean looked up. “That is a connection.”

“But they’re all in their early twenties” Sam argued. “Isn’t that normal?”

“Yes, but the perpetrator could just victims of that age so the parents would still be alive” Cas pointed out.

“Fine, but then, what does it get out of this?”

“Grief” Crowley said simply. “Nothing but the grief of a parent.”

Sam raised his head to look at him, but he didn’t meet his eyes as he continued, “There are several creatures that feed off human emotions.”

“And grief is an especially powerful one” Cas said. He nodded.

“Alright, so, monster that feeds off grief” Dean said, clapping his hands together, distracting them and pretending he didn’t see the thankful glance Crowley bestowed on him.

* * *

They decided it was most likely a banshee. “There’s a reason they hang around when people are dying” Dean argued. “They must at least get something from that.”

“Yes, but it still begs the question why it didn’t attack immediately upon us coming into town. Haven’t you boys lost enough people?” Crowley asked. He knew it wasn’t exactly considerate, but it distracted him from thinking of…

“I don’t know who you are thinking of now exactly, but…” Sam began, then trailed off. “You know, he kind of has a point.”

“I guess they prefer their grief fresh” Dean mused.

The only source of information they could find was an old Gaelic manuscript on the internet, but with Crowley still remembering the old tongue, it proved easy enough to read.

“Seriously? A bronze dagger dipped in cat’s blood? Why does it always have to be blood” Dean muttered. “Any volunteers?”

“I’ll do it” Cas offered.

Later, Crowley would have to admit that he was rather impressed about how Cas ensured the animals’ survival by taking just a little blood from every cat in the neighbourhood.

* * *

The old text hadn’t told them something very specific concerning banshees.

Mainly that they didn’t just cause and live off grief, but that they could also draw it out of a human soul if they were attacked.

And so, Crowley stumbled back, his feelings about Gavin’s sacrifice suddenly as sharp and acute as if it had just taken place. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Dean go to his knees. Small wonder; he’d had to endure much since he’d been four years old.

Sam had fallen down as well, but Cas had managed to stay on his feet, just as Crowley.

That said, his knees were shaking a little.

_“Goodbye, Father”_

_And he, the King of Hell, a demon, had to stand and watch as his son went to his certain doom –_

He couldn’t think about that now. He wouldn’t.

“Feathers” he said, sounding weaker than he would have liked, “Do you have –“

Dean got up and remained standing by clutching Crowley’s shoulder. “Man, that sucked.”

“Are you alright?”

“Have to be. let’s go.”

To say the banshee was angry that they hadn’t crumbled under their combined grief was an understatement, but they still fought her off, mainly by Sam and Dean playing bait.

Cas thankfully still could aim a dagger as well as his angel blade, and he threw it at just the right moment. It buried itself in her breast, and the banshee collapsed.

Immediately, the feeling of loss retreated, leaving them able to breathe again.

“That wasn’t fun” Dean said. “But one hell of a defence, I have to say.”

Crowley simply nodded.

* * *

That night, he was unable to sleep. He was sharing a room with Dean, as he often did; and not wanting to disturb the hunter, he stole out of the room.

Deciding that Dean would probably forgive him, he leaned against the hood of the Impala and looked up at the stars, his hands buried in his coat.

Gavin really had loved looking at the stars as a wee lad. They’d had to barricade the door, otherwise he’d have stolen out into the moors when he was only three years old.

Crowley sighed.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He wasn’t surprised that Dean had woken up. He’d probably felt instinctively that he was alone in the room.

“Nothing important, Squirrel.”

Dean sank down on the hood next to him. “Now why don’t I quite believe that?”

“Because you know me?”

“Damn right. It’s about Gavin, isn’t it.”

“What gave it away?”

For a while, they simply sat on the car and looked up at the stars; then Crowley asked,” Did I ever tell you what I told Mary that one night?”

“No, but if you’ve got nothing against it, I’d like to hear it.”

So Crowley told him.


End file.
